Inklings Of Betrayal

Disclaimer: I don't own anything from the television series Arrow and I'm not making any money from this fic

Summary: Takes place before Shades of Dark. Slade doesn't do well at Christmas. When one too many memories of his son surfaces, he comes close to betraying the relationship he has with Oliver

Warning(s): Spanking - both as erotic and punishment; spoilers for seasons one and two of Arrow; explicit sex scenes between two men; violence; AU

Pairing: Slade/Oliver

Author's Note: Not exactly a Christmas story, so I'm sure it doesn't matter that this is posted after Christmas Day. I will get back to Shades of Dark eventually... but in the meantime, I hope you enjoy this very angsty one-shot.


Slade drank the last dregs of his whiskey, staring at the far wall. His mind was tormented with memories of his past... and it was with some bitterness that he realised it wasn't just the crimes that he'd committed against Oliver that were playing around in his mind. No. Seeing the shops preparing for Christmas and the amount of families out celebrating had reminded him of his son. And the fact that he was the furthest thing from a father he could be.

Although he'd finished the last of the whiskey, there was nothing even approaching the oblivion he craved. Slade stared at the special arrows he'd had made for Oliver on a whim. He wasn't sure the other man would accept a gift from him... if it was even appropriate, considering their relationship consisted of them seeing each other privately... sleeping together, rather than dating. Of course, it was Slade who was reluctant to force Oliver to be seen with him.

In his other hand, Slade clutched his cell phone. His finger hovered dangerously over the Call button. All he had to do was press it. The number was already on the screen.

Slade swiped his finger across the screen and put the phone to his ear as it began to ring.

"Hello?" The boy's voice on the other end was enough to pierce Slade's heart and he couldn't respond. "Hello? This is Joe. Who's there?" There was a note of curiosity in the boy's voice... but no fear.

Slade swiped his finger across the screen to end the call.

When the screen went dark, Slade lowered the phone and frowned at his empty decanter. He considered calling Oliver... knew his lover would come if he asked him. But the thought of asking Oliver... of voicing what he felt was wrong with him... was daunting.

And he needed another drink.


Slade was well on his way to being absolutely wasted.

After having convinced the bartender he really needed the strongest alcohol there was (and he didn't even have to resort to grabbing the man by the front of his shirt), Slade had been knocking back shots and pints all night. After the third time his phone had rung, he'd turned it off without checking the display.

He didn't want to have to lie to Oliver. Or go into deep, dark details about how he was feeling.

"Anyone sitting here?" A woman leaned over Slade, thrusting her ample cleavage towards his face. She was weaving and swaying, clearly having had too much to drink, so her words sounded much more slurred... but Slade got the general idea. Either way, she didn't wait for him to respond in the affirmative before she plonked herself down on the chair next to him. "Hi! I'm Mindy!" She gave him a big, enthusiastic hug.

"Hi." Slade gently disentangled himself from her. "Don't you have friends to join?"

"They ditched me." Mindy shrugged, apparently unconcerned by that. "So now I'm with you!" She grinned. "What happened to your eye?"

"Nothing." Slade glared at the remnants of his drink.

"Want to get out of here?"

Somewhere at the back of his mind, Slade thought about Oliver... about how his lover would react if Slade went somewhere with this woman, who clearly had more on her mind than more drinking. The rest of him thought that he could do with an evening where he didn't have to think... about anything.


At least he didn't have a hangover.

Slade woke up with a sour taste of vomit in his mouth. Before his addiction, he hadn't got drunk, even though he'd had whiskey periodically... and this was entirely why. Glancing around the room, he recognised he was in Oliver's bedroom... though he pulled his mind away from that, considering exactly why he knew where he was.

The previous night was a bit of a blur to Slade. He didn't move from the bed, as he tried to figure out exactly what had happened. When had he called Oliver? How much had he drunk to make everything so confusing?

More to the point... had he lost enough control that he'd slept with someone?

When Slade would have tried to sit up, he found himself stuck. Tilting his head back, he could see that his wrists were bound to the bedposts... and while he could have easily broken the knots, knowing where he was, he didn't think it was entirely necessary... though being naked and tied did put him a bit on edge.

Slade didn't relax when he heard the sound of footsteps outside the room... not until the door was opened and Oliver was framed in it. He was wearing a smart suit and tie.

"Wearing a suit really doesn't suit you." Slade's attempt at humour fell flat and he cleared his throat. "Is tying me up necessary?" He cut himself off, feeling sick. He didn't remember what he'd done past leaving the bar. Could he have hurt someone? Killed them? His stomach twisted as he considered the possibility of being tied up to protect other people from him. "Oliver." His voice choked on the other man's name. "Did I hurt anyone? Did I hurt you?"

Oliver stepped further into the room, nudging the door closed behind him. His expression was unreadable as he spoke. "You drunk dialled me."

Slade prided himself on not allowing people to read his face... to guess at what he was thinking. He was certain that mask failed him now. "What did I say?"

Oliver walked over to the bed, his movements sharp and sure. Slade watched him, wondering what was going through his lover's mind. If it had been anyone else who had tied him, Slade would have already figured out a dozen ways to free himself... a hundred more to kill or maim the person responsible.

But this was Oliver.

Oliver sat on the edge of the bed. He studied Slade for a second... then leaned over and kissed him.

There was nothing gentle about the kiss. It was hard... possessive... demanding. No other part of Oliver's body touched Slade's... despite the way his body throbbed, all the way down to his groin.

Oliver bit Slade's lip, just enough to spark a sharp pain, and then pulled back to look into his eyes. "Who's Mindy?"

It took a while for Slade to draw her face to mind... to remember that he'd left the bar with her, though he remembered little else. "Some drunk girl. Probably barely legal."

"What were you doing with her last night"

Slade paused, trying to guess at what exactly Oliver was asking. If anything had happened between him and the girl, it would hurt Oliver deeply. Even if it hadn't, the question was still a valid one. Oliver was normally only a phone call away. When he wasn't, it was because they were both on a mission.

Slade shook his head, weariness coming over him, and closed his eyes. "I don't know."

Oliver was silent, but Slade felt him fumbling at the ties on his wrists. His stomach turned over as he thought about what a mistake like this could cost him. The moment his hand was free, he gripped Oliver's tight and looked into his eyes. "Don't."

Something flashed across Oliver's face and he leaned in, pressing his lips hard to Slade's.

Slade didn't care if it made him look weak. He returned the kiss with a desperation he'd felt with no one else... because he wouldn't allow anyone other than Oliver to see him in this vulnerable state.

Oliver pulled back to look into Slade's eyes. When he spoke, his voice was ragged. "You shouldn't have been with some stranger."

Slade didn't say anything. What was there to say? He knew Oliver was right... even though he also knew how unhealthy their dependence on each other was. Maybe they hadn't discussed exactly what their relationship was... that didn't mean his actions were excusable.

Oliver reached down for something and came back up with the paddle Slade had used on him on his birthday. "Roll over."

It was difficult to with one hand, but Slade managed it. Face down on the bed, with his body exposed, he was very aware of his nakedness.

Oliver's finger traced a line down Slade's spine and he couldn't help but relax... only to hiss when his lover's hand landed on his backside.

The sting faded quickly, but was reignited with the second and third smacks that landed. The position drove him into the mattress... and he realised the friction was causing him to grow hard.

Slade was concerned about his reaction... but when he felt the cool wood of the paddle rest against his warmed backside, he also felt Oliver nip lightly at the bare skin of his shoulder. He jumped when the paddle collided with his naked cheeks... and hissed out another breath when the paddle landed again in the same place.

"You should have called me, Slade." Oliver's voice was soft, with very little inflection. He brought the paddle down harder to punctuate each word.

Slade bit back a cry, only to feel Oliver's hot mouth trail down his spine, nipping at his skin. He groaned as each contact drove him closer and closer to release... but he still didn't know what Oliver wanted from him.

Was this a way of saying goodbye?

As if he sensed Slade's question, Oliver whispered in his ear, "You didn't actually betray me. You called me to come pick you up. But you came close. So I'm going to give you ten hard, fast strokes. And then..." He gently bit Slade's neck.

The promise didn't disturb Slade so much as how close he had come to losing control. He had no problem submitting to Oliver... but only him. He gave a nod to indicate he understood... and then braced himself.

The strike was hard, cracking loudly through the room. Slade flinched, but wasn't given the chance to catch his breath before the next one came down. He silently counted the ten strikes, breathing heavily by the time Oliver was done.

Dropping the paddle, Oliver stretched out alongside Slade and kissed him, hard and deep.

"I'm sorry." Slade's voice was a whisper against his lover's lips.

Oliver rolled Slade onto his back, ignoring the slight wince of pain, and kissed him again. Straddling Slade, he began taking off his clothes.

And Slade abruptly forgot his helplessness in having his hand tied.

The End